Fortunes
by Jair Amefuri
Summary: Aya-chan meets her hunter again, but this time things don't go quite as Schuldig planned. (sequel to Leather and Blood)


Disclaimer: Weiß Kreuz and all characters are property of Koyasu Takehito and Project Weiß. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made off these works of fanfiction. The lyrics at the beginning, middle, and end are from Ramble on Rose, written by Garcia/Hunter. Notes: /words/ is Schu speaking mentally.  
  
// Fortune //  
  
-- Just like Jack the Ripper, just like Mojo Hand,  
Just like Billy Sunday,  
In a shotgun ragtime band,  
Just like New York City, just like Jerico,  
Pace the halls and climb the walls  
And get out when they blow.  
  
Did you say your name was Ramblin' Rose?  
Ramble on baby, settle down easy  
Ramble on Rose. --  
  
The door opened with a soft click, swinging in and towards the wall before a hand steadied them. A flower in the display stand next to the entrance quivered, brushed by the draft now entering the tiny shop.  
  
Hesitating at the entrance, the man there surveyed the quaint business, stacked bushels of heavy-scented blooms and the low hum of the glass cooling cases. It was almost like being in a morgue, dim lighting and perfume giving it a darker attitude than one would suspect by it's cheery exterior.  
  
Forgetting his momentary and unwelcome hesitation, the man stepped inside and let the door close behind him, not caring that the cluster of bells on the handle rang gently as he did so. He wanted her to hear them, to come down and find. Whatever was there for her to find. He didn't really plan on seeing her face-to-face himself.  
  
Schuldig hummed under his breath as he busied himself, orange-head nodding to the tune of a song whose name he had long forgotten. His one enduring extravagance was a state-of-the-art stereo system, and music his only real passion. If he turned the headphones up enough, it could drown out the constant barrage of voices, the perpetual movement of outside thought.  
  
Music was just as much a drug as death for the smirking hunter, the distraction sweeter than any delicacy. Below the flow of words from his memory he could sense the only occupant of the building begin to stir, her thoughts muggy with the night and the state of exhaustion she drove herself to each day in search of happiness that was just out of reach.  
  
-- Just like Jack and Jill, Mama told the jailer  
One hear up, and one cool down,  
Leave nothin' for the tailor.  
Just like Jack and Jill, Papa told the jailer  
One go up, and one go down,  
Do yourself a favor.  
  
Did you say your name was Ramblin Rose?  
Ramble on baby, settle down easy  
Ramble on Rose. --  
  
The only sound in the dark bedroom behind the Koneko came from a small radio on a stand, its face flashing the time in digital red letters. The bed was a heap of blankets and sheets, all bleached white and covering a lumpy figure stretched on her stomach in the exact center. Aya liked to joke to herself that being in a coma for several years had made her a rigid sleeper.  
  
The floorboards crackled as she rolled onto her side, snuggling into the pillow and trying to escape what she knew was coming in her dream. She could never get away from them - the fire, coming home from the festival to see her home in ruins. The look on Ran's face as she fell, and the absence of emotion in his face when he left her just two short years ago, turning over the keys to the Koneko and wishing her a happy life.  
  
Suddenly her eyes opened, staring at the wall to her left, over the top of the buzzing radio and a lamp. From below her came a repeat of the sound, a cheerful twinkling of bells. The decoration on the shop's door. Aya raised herself slowly on her elbows, disturbing dreams forgotten as the blankets fell away from her shoulders and she didn't shiver, despite the cold air of winter.  
  
She slid her feet from the bed, her eyes still focused on the wall opposite her, listening. But she heard nothing else. She relaxed, sitting on the edge of her bed, beginning to think that she was alone, putting down her inability to sleep on paranoia. She closed her eyes again, beginning to dip back down against the inviting bed, her eyelids heavy. It was when her head touched the pillow that she became aware of a draft from her window, brushing the black bangs away from her face. Aya turned her face to the window, her heart beginning to pound again and move steadily towards her throat.  
  
The white curtains flapped softly in the breeze, moonlight glancing off of their ridges and through the open window. A single rose lay across the sill, immobile and silent.  
  
Her heart now beating wildly, Aya scrambled out of bed, tripping over the tangle of sheets in her haste to reach the window and pull it shut, leaning against the wall when she managed to turn the latch, the rose clutched tightly in her fingers. Her forehead rested against the cool plaster of the wall, and she was thankful for it, ignoring the pain of the thorns stabbing her palm.  
  
-- I'm gonna to sing you a hundred verses in ragtime,  
I know this song it ain't never gonna end.  
I'm gonna march you up and down along the county line,  
Take you to the leader of a band. --  
  
The calm lasted only a second, for as she turned away, still clutching the rose, her shoulders dropped with relief, the door opened.  
  
Schuldig waited on the stairs, one foot braced against the wall and leather-sheathed arms folded across his chest. His chin rested on his arms and wild orange hair fell around his face and shoulders. He listened to her thoughts and to the physical noise of her reaction, his smirk dry from the wind outside and eyes still wide with the unusual excitement of it all. It had been a long time since he'd had somebody so fun to play with.  
  
He waited until he heard her mental relief, a soft sigh as her brain stopped over-functioning and she began to calm herself. His lips twisted in a smirk as he hauled himself lazily away from the wall and went up the rest of the stairs, easing her door open silently. Foolish, trusting little kitten, to leave her door unlocked.  
  
The first thing he noticed was her pale, trembling form washed in moonlight by the window. The smirk stretched wider, revealing teeth bared in a grin wolf-like in its intensity. The other thing to catch his eye was a single rose in a crystal vase, alone on its shelf across the sparsely furnished bedroom.  
  
He continued to grin as she froze and turned to see him, her hands bloodied from the forgotten rose in her hands.  
  
Aya stared at the figure across from her, the memory that chased away her dreams at night and played with her mind during the day. The stranger with the odd, harsh European name and a black rose. The man whose scent of leather and blood filled her senses again as he crossed the floor with the grace of a cat. She did nothing, was not able to speak or move as he reached her.  
  
Schuldig ran his fingers over her jaw, reading her mixed apprehension and eagerness with a glance, basking in it as her skin slid under his hand, her teeth clenched but her expression unwavering. The hunter stepped closer, so close he could hear her breathing, and she could feel his breath on her neck as he bent his head.  
  
For a moment, Aya entertained the wild thought that he was a vampire, hypnotizing her with his blue eyes and accent, his smooth hands and roses.  
  
Schuldig laughed, low and breathy, against her throat, kissing it but having no fangs to pierce the skin and drink her blood. /I'm not a vampire, kitten./ He embraced her mind as well, wrapping his own mental essence around hers and delighting in it even as she shivered against him. /What, no fighting, no brave protests, kitten? I expected more of you. Or do you not take your gun to bed?/  
  
That triggered something in Aya, threw down the haze of dreams and night. For the first time she noticed the pain in her hands, the thorns spilling blood from her hands. The real, solid warmth and smell of the man half holding her, his hands now on her shoulders, head tipped cockily and blue eyes glinting as he ran his tongue over his teeth.  
  
Schuldig, the black rose.  
  
Aya pulled herself away suddenly, not giving him enough time to read her intentions, her hands dropping the rose with a low hiss as they fumbled for any kind of weapon. Indeed, she did not take her gun to bed. It was in a drawer of her desk, which was unfortunately on the other side of the room. As she tried to back away she stumbled over the curled edge of a rug and fell, hard, to the floor, the back of her head hitting a chair. Her eyes widened and then she passed out, sagging over the seat of the chair, wavy black hair obscuring her face.  
  
Schuldig watched her at first with amusement and interest, willing to let her get to a weapon. He didn't want her frozen and dreaming, after all. When she tripped he nearly moved to catch her before stopping himself and reaching again for her mind instead. When he realized she was out cold, he dropped into a crouch at her side, brushing strands of hair from her eyes, shaking his head. Then he picked her up, pulling her legs over his arms and letting her head roll into against his shoulder.  
  
"You sure have a way of attracting trouble, katzchen," he told her lip form conversationally. "You even attracted me." He grinned again, this time to himself, shifting her weight in his arms and remembering the last time he had carried her off through a window. "Say goodbye, babe." And they were gone, leaving behind an open window that blew wind over thrown back blankets and a black rose on the floor.  
  
-- Just like Crazy Otto, just like Wolfman Jack,  
Sittin plush with a royal flush,  
Aces back to back.  
Just like Mary Shelly, just like Frankenstein,  
Clank your chains and count your change  
And try to walk the line.  
  
Did you say your name was Ramblin Rose?  
Ramble on baby, settle down easy  
Ramble on Rose.  
  
I'm gonna to sing you a hundred verses in ragtime,  
I know this song it ain't never gonna end.  
I'm gonna march you up and down along the county line,  
Take you to the leader of a band.  
  
Goodbye Mama and Papa  
Goodbye Jack and Jill  
The grass ain't greener, the wine ain't sweeter  
Either side of the hill.  
  
Did you say your name was Ramblin Rose?  
Ramble on baby, settle down easy  
Ramble on Rose. Ramble on Rose -- 


End file.
